


On Broken Bones Built Paradise

by TheUnnamedOne



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Depression, Derek takes a while to even show up kinda slow burn, Insomnia, Intrusive Thoughts, Like really slow, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Medical Inaccuracies, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Not Beta Read, Panic Attacks, Past Torture, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Separation Anxiety, Slow Burn, Social Anxiety, Supernatural Elements, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, also aliens, i wrote this because i cant afford therapy, various - Freeform, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28975578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUnnamedOne/pseuds/TheUnnamedOne
Summary: All at once Stiles was blatantly aware of how messed up his life was. Or more specifically how messed up it was this it was always HIM in the middle of these things."Any time now Stiles!"That's right. Focus on the monster currently swooping them. He drew a deep breath, making a note where the others were and stared at the feathers lining the beasts wings. A moment later it was screaming in pain as it fell, the smell of burning flesh coming from the flames he'd conjured. It took a moment before any of them moved and the silence was broken by Stiles loudly clapping."You're welcome! You're welcome, please. Don't throw yourself down in gratitude. It was the least I could do."His friend snorted and walked off. Peter rolled his eyes as he walked to the body. "Look. Shut up."---AKA: three idiots go on a road trip to find more idiots so they can save the world.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been in a depressive episode for months and one day I got high, had a shower and spent twenty minutes lost thinking up a post apocalyptic adventure involving werewolves. I was, however, far too lazy to come up with an entire cast of characters so I slapped the Teen Wolf characters into it and started writing. 
> 
> Now I'm obsessed and I can't stop so I might as well start posting it. Despite the other projects I have collecting dust. I'm sorry.
> 
> It's set a few years after the series ended, and a few tiny things have been tweaked from the series but ultimately the main events all stayed the same. I'll try to tag appropriately while avoiding spoilers. But those looking for a quick ship fic are going to be disappointed.
> 
> Please forgive mistakes <3

There was so much fucking blood. Peters’ nostrils flared slightly as his fingers twitched, accidentally causing more splatters to join the others. A whirring could be heard faintly, letting him know backup generators had been fixed finally. The lights flickered on again, though significantly weaker than before. Some remained off, too damaged to be of use. That was mainly behind him though.

“ _Warning. Warning. Level 5 breach. All personnel to their stations. Warning. Warning.”_

The static filled announcement blared on repeat and he squinted to either side of him before stepping firmly over the bodies at his feet. He was, all truth be told, exhausted. His ears listened intently past the mechanical voice and busted pipes as he walked down the hall. He assumed that the closer he got to his destination the more resistance he would encounter but the sheer number of forces he had killed so far was ridiculous. Surely the kid wasn’t worth this level of security.

The sound of panicked yelling and gunfire caught his attention and Peter moved through the halls faster. Cutting the power had given him the advantage over normal soldiers, but he truly still had no idea what else they had locked up here. Knowing them, it could be anything. For the most part the fighting had been rather simple. Everyone was caught off guard and he barely needed to shift to cut them down. He wanted it to stay that way.

A body crashed through the wall in front of him and he took a few steps back as the man gurgled and went limp. A loud crunch was heard on the other side followed shortly after by a deep growl. Peter rolled his eyes. _‘Of course they have a werewolf.’_ Moving silently and keeping his breath even he crouched low as he peeked around the corner. A light flickered repeatedly, tables and walls were destroyed and there were smashed computer parts littering the floor. At the far end of the room stood a wolf staring directly at him, hackles raised and mouth formed in a silent snarl. It was about twice the size of a normal wolf. Frustration filled him. _‘Enhanced. My lucky day.’_ Seeing no more point in trying to hide he stood fully, moving into the room eyes glowing.

The wolf growled loudly, snapping its jaws as it paced. Its eyes never left his and it didn’t react to the colour of his eyes. He felt his claws extend as it grew more defensive. The fact that he wasn’t immediately attacked was surprising. Enhanced that are far enough to not react to a werewolf’s eyes were either bound already or feral. And there were only bodies in the room. Uniforms matching the men _he_ was fighting.

“Now now, that’s not polite.” His voice was firm as he took his own defensive stance. “I’m not here for you.”

The wolf gave only a seconds warning before it launched at him, snarling and growling. Peter swung his claws out and threw himself to the side in time to dodge its leap. There was a fresh layer of blood on his hand and he sent out a growl of his own. It would be easier to shift fully and end this fight. The wolf in front of him smelled fresh, but he had no idea what else was in this facility. Shifting that far was exhausting, and there were bigger things than a wolf.

He kicked off with his leg and launched towards the snarling animal, claws aimed for its throat. It ducked under his arm only to be met with a kick, letting out a whine as it went flying into a wall. He turned, expecting its quick recovery and put his arm up just in time to block the animals jaws. They fell back, its teeth sinking into his arm. He formed a fist with his other arm and punched upwards, connecting with the side of its head. It gave a snarl and bit harder, shaking its head slightly.

“Wait.” A soft voice, almost drowned out by the two snarling animals caused the wolf on top of him to stiffen, dropping his arm and moving off of him.

Peter panted and winced as he pushed himself up to stare in the direction the voice had come from. “Stiles.” Standing it was easier to look the kid over and Peter squinted at the state of him. He looked, quite frankly, completely ruined, flinching hard when his name was said.

He was skinnier than usual. His hair was overgrown and sticking into his eyes. Dark marks covered his face. Hands and neck littered with bandages and his frame slightly hunched. He wore a white t-shirt and sweatpants. Or they had been white, but they were now painted in various shades of red and grey. Stiles looked Peter over once before turning the wolf and shaking his head.

“He’s...not them. Don’t kill him.” He had to wince at how quiet and rough the kids voice was. The wolf huffed slightly before turning to growl at him, it didn’t relax but at least now it seemed content to leave him be.

“We need to get out of here. Can you walk?” There was no time right now for pleasantries. Stiles merely nodded and limped to stand at the wolfs side. The large animal began moving back the way Stiles’ had entered. “The exit is actually that way,” Peter sighed, jerking a thumb behind him. The other two simply stared at him before the wolf snorted and kept walking. He growled, shook his head and followed after them, keeping eyes and ears alert for any movement.

Stiles could indeed _walk_ , but he certainly couldn’t walk _fast_. While the wolf stayed slow enough that the kid could keep up, Peter felt an increasing sense of urgency the longer it took them to progress through the various sections of the facility. Several times the animal would stop, stance rigid as the kid gripped its fur and took deep breathes. After a few moments they would continue moving and Peter felt like his skin was on fire.

“Not to be pushy but we really need to get a move on.” Stiles nodded again and the wolf growled as he let go of its fur. An eyebrow was quirked up as he watched the kid move to instead lean on the wall, pushing himself to stand upright.

The kid nodded once to the wolf and in an instant it moved ahead, moving fast as it checked the halls and rooms ahead. Peter squinted as he caught the pained expression that covered Stiles’ face before he nodded and limped faster to keep up.

He inhaled deeply, glancing down at the kids’ leg. They didn’t have the time for him to check his injuries but he smelled blood underneath the clothes. The kid also had no shoes. They moved through the halls quietly, Stiles pushing hard but ultimately they weren’t moving much faster than before.

The wolf had found soldiers ahead and Peter directed Stiles to the ground behind a broken door. Gunfire filled the air, a few bullets flying past and he turned to watch the wolf jump off the wall and around a corner, snarling and growling. There was a few moments of yelling, crunching and the occasional snarl.

“I thought you were dead.”

Peter glanced back at Stiles once before smirking and helping him up, the sounds of the fight having stopped. “Did you expect me to stay dead?”

“Yes.” The wolf had come to stand at the end of the hallway, eyes on them as Peter helped Stiles walk. “Why are you here?” With his assistance the kid moved quickly, satisfying the intense urge to _move_. He was silent as they followed the wolf, focused instead on listening out for sounds of danger. The facility rumbled as something off in the distance exploded and the wolf froze entirely. Stiles stiffened at his side and Peter tilted his head, listening.

A roar echoed through the building and he winced at the sound. “I don’t want to fight whatever that is.” He could feel Stiles silently shake his head. The wolf sniffed the air intently, taking a careful step around the corner before huffing at them. “Yeah yeah, we’re coming.” Peter grumbled, half dragging the kid at his side. The wolf made several soft sounds, almost resembling agitation and he rolled his eyes. “How come your friend isn’t shifting back?”

There was no response for a moment as Stiles breathed heavily, eyes straight ahead with a familiar determination. “You want her to shift back when there’s danger?”

“Fair point.” Peter squinted his eyes at that before filing it away for later. “First we’ll get out of here. Then we can oh I don’t know, have a beer and catch up.” No response. There was an underlying feeling of panic at Stiles’ behaviour and Peter took a deep breath and set his gaze forward.

Something was wrong with the kid, that much was certain. Another explosion shook the building and the kid stumbled, leaning heavily on his arm. The wolf looked back with alarm and Stiles nodded once as he straightened himself. Flicking it’s – her ears back for a second the wolf jumped into action, crouching slightly before pushing off and running down the hall, straight through a previously closed door. A couple screams of alarm sounded and Peter doubled his efforts to move Stiles faster.

Once they reached the doorway he ducked them down immediately as gunfire filled the room. Stiles groaned in pain but moved to huddle behind an overturned table while Peter crouched next to him. His eyes scanned the giant room, watching as the wolf jumped and skidded around from soldier to soldier. As fast as she was moving, and as vicious as her attacks were it only confirmed Peters’ earlier suspicions that she was freshly enhanced. He growled at the confirmation. They had less time than he thought. He turned to glance at Stiles, noting that while the kid was in severe pain he was covered from the fight for the moment. “Stay here.”

As soon as Stiles acknowledged the words with another silent nod Peter was off, launching himself out of cover to race at the closest soldier. The man wasn’t expecting the attack, having been focused on the wolf and he let out a yell of surprise before dropping as Peters claws sliced wetly through his throat. The others in the room were yelling at each other, scrambling to cover themselves against the two. He wasted no time in adjusting his fighting style to do as the wolf had, jumping and running in unpredictable directions to cut down enemies at random. A grenade was thrown towards him and he spun to catch and throw it back, ducking behind a nearby table as it went off and debris and body parts were thrown out.

His eyes were glowing as he raced out again, urged on by the smell of blood coating the air. His companion was similarly affected, snarling even louder as she tore through various bodies. By the time they had killed the soldiers in the room they were both covered and panting heavily.

The alarm continued blaring, the announcement even more distorted than before. A low growl came from behind him and Peter sheathed his claws, glancing at the still shaking animal before he turned to where Stiles was trying to stand. He helped the kid stand properly before turning to look back at the wolf. The animal snorted and moved urgently through the room. From what he could see it was where they worked on their vehicles. A chuckled bubbled through his throat at the sudden temptation to blow their cars up. Stiles was silent at his side as they moved after the wolf.

Abruptly the announcement was cut off, the alarm stopped and all the lights went out. Stiles froze completely and Peter squinted, eyes glowing as he looked through the darkness. The wolf had stopped, standing rigid and ears swivelling to listen through the sudden silence. Once she started moving Peter nudged Stiles, guiding him through the dark. The kid didn’t resist, leaning and moving with the unspoken directions silently. This did not relax Peter in the slightest. Sure it was great that the usually stubborn kid was listening but… this wasn’t Stiles. He shook it off. Of course he was listening, he was clearly injured and exhausted.

The quiet was almost as grating as the constant alarm had been, the nerves under his skin all hyper vigilant as he waited for something to break the silence. The longer it went with only Stiles’ breathing and the soft padding of the wolf the more on edge he was. His arm was squeezed suddenly and he jerked a fraction before Peter turned an annoyed frown at the kid.

“You’re stressing her out. She can’t focus.” Stiles was still staring ahead, breathing heavily through each step. The soft breaking of his voice sent chills down Peters’ back. The sense of _wrong_ refilled him with a vengeance.

“Are you Bonded to her?” Once again a pained expression crossed the kids’ face and Peter felt his blood run cold. “Then that means you…” Nope. Not going to continue that thought. Nor what it meant. Peter shook his head. “Right. Come on, get her to lead us out and fast.” A hesitant nod and the wolf in front quickened her steps. Peter pulled the kid along and swallowed hard. This complicated things on a number of levels. In fact complicated didn’t even begin to cover it. He had been prepared for a certain amount of complicated and frankly this was far past that.

Once they had reached the end of the room the wolf nosed a door and huffed. Peter cleared his throat and she turned to stare heavily at him. “Don’t know how to use a door handle?” A small snarl left the animal. He quirked his lips up in a grin as the wolf moved to let him turn the handle. He glanced on the other side of the door and found a large stairwell on the other side. “Alright kid, up or down?” He moved to the side, clearing the doorway enough to allow the wolf to move forward, nose in the air. Giving a small snort the animal moved carefully down the stair and Stiles nodded at his side.

All things considered the trip down the stairs was easy, but not something he wanted to repeat any time soon. He nearly lost a hold of the kid several times, catching a glare from the wolf each time. Peter rolled his eyes and adjusted his hold. “Really you have no right to judge me.” The animal huffed and continued her own awkward stumble down the stairs.

After going down three floors the animal stopped by a service door, pressing heavily against the handle stretched across it. He rolled his eyes again at the look she gave as it opened. “Yes yes, well done.” His only answer was a snort from the animal as she continued through the door.

Stiles groaned again, gripping Peter’s arm harder and the smell of pain made his head spin for a second. “How much further?” The kid just took a deep breath before nodding and continuing his slow steps. Peter quirked an eyebrow up and stared at the tunnel they had entered. “That doesn’t tell me much Stiles.” Another flinch in response to his name.

The wolf had turned down the tunnel and gave a small bark to them. If the animal was comfortable making noise they were safe for the moment. Stiles took another deep breath. “Not far.”

Moderately more helpful. Peter sighed and pulled the kid along, not quite relaxing but feeling more confident now they had left the facility. “How hurt are you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Liar.” Peter snorted.

“I’m just really tired.”

“Fine,” his tone clearly aggravated. “Don’t tell me. It’s not like I risked my life to get you out of there or anything.” There wasn’t a verbal answer but Peter could tell by the kids sudden tense stance that his words had an effect. The wolf ahead of them growled lowly and Peter growled in response. “Shut up, I’m obviously not going to hurt him or I would have by now.” The animal snorted but kept walking.

They continued on in silence for a few more moments, Stiles getting slower the further they progressed. His aggravation hadn’t subsided but a sliver of concern rose at the state of the kid. Peters’ mind went through the various possibilities of what happened to him, each thought growing darker and darker. A soft whine broke his train of thoughts and he stared at the wolf. The animal was staring intently on Stiles and Peter frowned as he looked down at the kid. “You’re barely able to stand.”

“Just.. Just through there.” He could barely hear the words but he nodded, looking at the large gate the wolf had stopped in front of. Peter moved forward, holding onto Stiles with one arm while he grabbed the handle with his other. The metal creaked and gave way with a loud _crack_. The hinges groaned as it fell and the wolf snorted as she moved past him.

They were about two steps through the door when Peter scoffed and shook his head. “Nope. We’re resting now. You won’t make it up that.” He glared at the set of stairs leading up. The wolf had already run up a few steps before turning to stare at them. “Don’t look at me like that. Five minutes.” A shuddering sigh came from Stiles but the kid nodded and the wolf trotted back down. Peter moved to set the kid down on one of the steps, assessing him at the same time. He looked worse than before and Peter shook his head. “You look like you’re dying.”

There was a small exhale as Stiles leaned forward to put his head on his knees. “I feel like I’m dying.” Peter waited for a moment, eyeing the kid critically. Each breath was heavy and harsh, a near constant tremble accompanied by small hisses of pain. There was fresh blood seeping out of the bandages on his arms, and his leg was absolutely radiated with pain. Peter sat next to him and gingerly wrapped his hand around Stiles’ wrist, feeling the exposed skin between the bandages.

Taking pain was never something he was good at but Peter closed his eyes and evened out his breaths. His mind screamed that they were still in danger but he forced himself to calm enough that he could focus on that sliver of concern for Stiles. A muffled groan told him it was working and he relaxed a fraction, gritting his teeth as he pulled more pain from the kid. A huff of hot air on his face startled him and Peter growled as his eyes snapped open to glare at the wolfs snarling expression. The animal froze when a shaky hand was placed over her nose.

“It’s ok.” His voice was a whisper. Clearing his throat Stiles spoke again, sounded steadier than he was a moment ago. “He was taking my pain.” The animal stared at Peter with weary eyes before moving to examine him. Stiles was calm as a giant nose traced his forehead. “See?” The wolf snorted and moved aside, sending a small glare at Peter. “Thank you.”

Peter didn’t say anything, simply offering his arm as the kid moved to stand. He hadn’t taken as much pain as he would have liked, but it was enough that their chances of getting somewhere safe went up. He nodded, satisfied that at least one problem wasn’t so pressing anymore. “Lead the way.” The wolf snarled softly before snorting and heading up the stairs. Peter rolled his eyes and focused on steadying Stiles.

Not needing the support to walk nearly as much as he had before, Stiles had a much easier time on the stairs and before long they were through the door at the other end. He eyed the area wearily, determining it to be an old warehouse of some sort, long picked clean of anything of use. He was relieved beyond words to note that the place smelled completely undisturbed beyond the three of them. Never before had he been so glad to smell dust. The wolf didn’t seem to have the same appreciation, sneezing a few times as she picked her way to find an exit.

A snarky remark was on his tongue before he bit it back. The wolf had found a hole in the metal wall, squeezing through without another glance back. Peter shook his head and stepped forward to help Stiles through. The cold breeze against his skin had him exhaling in relief and he breathed deeply. They weren’t safe yet. But it was hard to resist the ease the seeped into his muscles as he blinked up at the night sky. A small huff drew his gaze towards the wolf who was also tilting her head back.

“There’s a place we can rest across town, follow me.” Both Stiles and the wolf had turned to stare at Peter who merely shrugged. “I planned ahead.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have about 8 chapters completed and people keep interrupting me so i figured i would slap chapter 2 up before i forget
> 
> also fair warning, you'll get sick of reading 'the other man' or simply 'the man', but nowhere near as sick as i got of writing it. I hope the reason I wrote those phrases so much is apparent in this chapter, but ill put a note at the end if it doesn't make sense.

The wall in front of him had at one point been painted blue. A pale, calming blue. The kind you expect to find in a therapists office or hospital waiting room. Stiles blinked slowly as his gaze travelled the jagged edges of blue. Most of it had been scraped away or fell due to disrepair.

“Stiles.” He flinched.

The only part of him that moved to the side was his gaze, the rest of his body remained frozen on the couch. He stared unblinking at the other occupant of the room. _‘Peter.’_ A dizziness echoed in his mind as the mans name came to the surface. He blinked, waiting. The face he stared at pinched slightly, in aggravation or concern Stiles didn’t know.

“Why were you in there?” The words shattered the dizziness and his chest expanded as fear rose from his stomach. A low whine sounded from in front of him and he glanced down to stare at warm brown eyes. She was worried, catching his panic as soon as he felt it. Warmth flickered inside him at her concern before being immediately smothered by a wave of guilt. Her ears flattened along her head and the guilt grew. Stiles cleared his throat and looked back at the mans pinched face.

“I …” The words stuck in his throat and he swallowed hard. The expression didn’t change. He glanced away, mind jumping back and forth between thoughts. _‘_ _To be broken.’_ He swallowed again and looked back, his fingers trembling as he pressed them harder together. “The treatments.”

The man nodded and sat forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees as his hands covered his mouth. He wasn’t looking at Stiles anymore. The panic remained inside, coiling and stinging but it didn’t grow. When the man looked back at him Stiles flinched again. His mind jerked harshly as the mans eyes examined him closely. _‘He knows. He knows he knows he knows he--’_

“Where’s Derek?”

Everything stopped. A rush filled his ears and his hands throbbed from how hard he was squeezing them. “Where’s…” His voice was barely a whisper as he breathed through the slow motion dizziness that had taken residence in his mind. Nausea raced up his throat, followed closely by fear and dread.

A static buzzing started then stopped, his vision blurred and he fought to draw in air. ‘ _Derek?’_ The name pulled forth a fuzzy memory, a flash of colour, more buzzing. _Everything hurt._ The room melted around him before snapping back and repeating the process.

“I don’t know.” In an instant his eyes were blinking away the blur, finding his companions staring at him intently. The other man was frowning and shaking his head.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I mean I don’t know.”

“Well what about Scott?”

It was impossible to breath. “I don’t know.”

“Malia??”

“Please...” The room added spinning to it’s symphony.

“Stiles, concentrate. When was the last time you saw any of them?”

“I...I...” There was a growling and his hand automatically reached out to tangle his fingers in the fur he found. It was a lifeline as he closed his eyes and slumped forward. “I don’t know. Please stop.” The words were barely more than a breath but he couldn’t focus enough to put more volume in. The fur under his hand flinched, and movement could be felt as she growled lowly.

“Until you shift back you aren’t invited to this conversation.” Another sharp growl. “Stiles.” He shuddered heavily. “Stiles look at me.” Slowly he lifted his head and opened his eyes to turn a bleary gaze on the man in the chair. The eyes that stared back at him were frowning even harder and Stiles resisted the urge to scratch his skin at the feeling. “You know me?” There was an uncertain catch in the tone, barely there but there all the same.

Stiles nodded ever so slightly. It wasn’t a lie. He _did_ know him. That was... _Peter_. He was...a friend? An enemy? He frowned slightly, dizziness coming back as his mind so helpfully crowded him with red eyes and animalistic growls. A train station. Hospital equipment beeping. He nodded again, firmer this time.

Peter let out a long sigh. “And you remember your friends?”

Another small nod, this one shaky. He _did_ remember them. Somewhat. Kind of. They were there somewhere past the wall of dizziness that appeared whenever he thought of their names. He focused instead on the thought of their faces. He blinked and cleared his throat. “I remember them.” Still soft. Still too quiet. Still too much like the voice he used when he answered the questions drilled into him. His fingers flinched and a heavy head settled over his lap. _Don’t. Don’t feel sorry for me._ Guilt rode his skin and there was another soft whine from his lap. Peter watched silently before nodding.

“You’re the last person who had contact with them. I have to find them.” All he could manage was a silent nod. An acknowledgement he was being spoken to. “We’ll leave after some sleep, if we stay on the move we’re less likely to get caught.” Another nod. Peter stood and moved around the small house. He didn’t bother keeping track of what he was doing, focusing on staring at the wall again as his fingers massaged thick fur.

His mind danced around, not staying on any one thought for long. Slowly the sounds from the house faded and Stiles allowed himself to sit quietly in the quasi trance like state he found himself in. They had tried to get the memories from him before. Sometimes with injections, cold fluid that made his tongue heavy and his toes twitch. Sometimes they had brought in their wolves, flashes of red eyes and stabbing pain along the back of his neck. Each time was more painful than the last.

Somehow they never got what they were looking for. Stiles had stopped fighting them, unable to tell them what he didn’t know but equally unable to get them to stop. Sometimes all it took was a blank stare and they would start again, forever dissatisfied with anything he gave them.

Eventually the questions stopped.

Stiles violently shook at those memories, his breath coming in faster as he tore his gaze from the wall. There were eyes near the window staring at him. “Why were _you_ there?” The man scoffed and at first he was certain that was the only response he would get.

“To find you, actually. Took me a while to get the right lab but that’s alright. More of ‘em dead, the better.” The mans face was twisted and angry and Stiles shuddered at the cold sweat taking place along his back. A moment later he twitched before relaxing, turning to face the window again. “Didn’t expect to find you… how I found you.”

“With an Enhanced.” Every muscle in his body was clenched, eyes watching the man carefully. The head on his lap had moved, pulling into a silent snarl as she picked up on his distress.

If he noticed their reactions he didn’t show it, merely nodding his head thoughtfully. “I figured they had you for interrogation. Probably tortured you, maybe already killed you. Not once did I expect to find out they were turning you into a Handler.” The title brought a cold familiarity to him and Stiles pressed back against the couch. The man sighed deeply. “Doesn’t matter. Plan is still the same. Get you to safety, somehow find the others. Go to bed.”

Stiles nodded numbly. The panic wouldn’t sleep. Couldn’t sleep. His gaze drifted to brown eyes moving from his lap. A nose touched his cheek and he sighed. At this point he was too exhausted to do anything regardless of whether Peter was a threat or not. He slowly moved to lay along the couch, his companion moving on the floor so he could keep his hand on her shoulder. His eyes eventually closed, the last thought on his mind of the colour on the walls.

…..

They hadn’t stayed at the house long after everyone was awake. The sky visible through the window showed them it was roughly midday and after eating they all headed out, hesitant to break the silence in the streets unless necessary. Stiles looked further ahead to where his friend had climbed on a broken car. Her nose was tilted up and he looked around at the empty street with a sad pain in his chest. He glanced back to where she had resumed her trot down the street and shook his head. Thinking of before would only hurt. Right now that would slow them down.

Every so often they would stop, Stiles’ gaze on the perked up ears in front of him, waiting for a sign to continued. Every time they did he was struck with how easy it was to wait for her cues, to read every change in her fur. Guilt mixed with bile as he followed quietly.

He hated how it felt in his head.

Jumbled parts of _Stiles_ mixed with a solid and permanent weight that he knew as _her_. He tried to ignore it. Tried to ignore the random flashes he could only describe as _‘Stop. Wait. Danger. Safe. This way.’_ He shoved violently at the worry and concern lingering at the edge of his mind. 

_'Stop.’_

She froze in front of him, one of her ears trained back at him. Good god he was going to throw up.

Stiles hurled himself to the side, coughing and shuddering violently as the contents of his stomach landed on the ground. He couldn’t breathe past it, his eyes watered and he could feel his legs start to give way just as an arm circled his shoulders. Closing his eyes he gulped air in rapidly, vaguely hearing a voice telling him to slow down. He could feel the mental tether, stretching anxiously and he breathed out half a sob. He was hurting her.

“Hey. Stiles?” The voice next to him made it through the ocean in his ears and Stiles opened his eyes, shakily standing up and wiping his mouth. The arm dropped from his shoulders and he turned slightly. _‘Peter’_ his mind supplied as his gaze landed on the face next to him. He nodded and Peter sighed. “You good?”

The strings in his mind thrummed, but he nodded again as he turned to continue down the street. “I’m fine.” It was only partly a lie, he was fine enough to keep walking. The other man didn’t need to know just how not fine he was in his head. Stiles shook his head to dislodge the feeling of concern that had drifted from his friend. ‘ _I’m fine.’_ It was less genuine sounding in his head but it silenced the feeling. His arms shook anxiously every time she looked back to stare silently at him.

The rest of the day was spent in similar silence to how it started but the time the sun had started to drop Peter mumbled something about finding a place to sleep and Stiles simply nodded, watching as his friend had turned her attention to them. Her head tilted slightly as she stared heavily at Peter and Stiles flinched as the distrust flooded him. He swallowed hard and nodded again. “I am pretty tired.” His quiet words broke the feeling from consuming him and his friend turned forward once more, senses turned towards their new objective.

A half broken down house was the first place they looked at but considering the lack of defensible walls Peter had scoffed and moved them along until they came to a set of apartments. Stiles waited outside as his friend went inside to check, nodding once the feeling of _safe_ made his fingers twitch. Peter didn’t question it, merely followed behind him silently while securing the door. Once they had selected an apartment in relative good condition Stiles sat wearily on a chair and put his head in his hands.

The firm pressure of a wet nose pressed along his hands but he ignored it, focusing on steadying his breathing and pushing away at the concern filling him again. These weren’t his feelings and he wanted to cry at the reminder.

A throat cleared off to the side and he peeked out over a mess of fur to stare at Peter. There was a vague gesture at the kitchen. “I found some cans, you need to eat something.” Agreement knocked against his skull and Stiles groaned softly. “You aren’t allowed to say no.” Another wave of agreement, this time saturated in annoyance as his friend lightly snarled.

He glanced down to see her glaring at Peter. “Alright.” The rough whisper left his mouth before he could stop it and he stood, following to the kitchen. There were a few cans of spaghetti and fruit salad waiting. “What about her?” His eye drifted back to where she continued to sit and her head tilted to the side as she stared at him. Peter sighed.

“If she would shift back it would be easier. But while she’s like that...” The man scratched a hand through his hair and his face turned thoughtful. “There’s a forest on the edge of town.” Stiles didn’t miss the heavy stare the other man threw at his friend. A surge of protectiveness filled him before he could stop it.

“She will change back when she’s ready.” He didn’t intend for the words to sound bitter, and his stomach clenched painfully as his own voice reached his ears. Peters gaze had snapped to examine him and Stiles flinched away. “How long until we reach the forest?"

There was a long moment of heavy silence before it was broken by Peter opening the cans. Stiles flicked his gaze over and watched the other man open the various cupboards before settling on a plastic container. “It’ll take another day unless we run into trouble. I’d suggest we find some supplies if we’re gonna cut through it. Might not find much, but if we go into the forest with nothing you’ll --” Peter paused, a tin of spaghetti slowly emptying down into the container as he made eye contact with Stiles. The expression on his face was twisted oddly and after a second he looked away and resumed his task. “Anyway this isn’t good for her in that form. But it’ll help for the moment.”

The container was moved to the ground in front of her and Stiles could feel the displeasure rolling through him as she growled lowly at Peter. The other man simply stared at her. “Eat. It’s all I got for you right now.” She growled louder and Stiles groaned softly at the onslaught of emotion.

“He’s right.” Her growl was abruptly cut off and she looked at him with a tired expression. The corner of his mouth twitched for a fraction of a second. “It’s not the worst thing we’ve eaten.” She didn’t appreciate his remark but she did begrudgingly put her face down to eat. He didn’t need some stupid mental bond to see how disgusted she was with the meal. It was evident in every one of her movements and Stiles turned back to his own food.

Peter joined him at the counter, quietly eating. Stiles could feel it every time the other mans eyes were on him but he managed to keep himself from flinching the more it happened. _‘Like riding a bike.’_ His hand gripped the fork tightly. Being around people shouldn’t be something you had to get back into practice with. His eyes closed and he shoved away the half finished can, not looking up when Peter sighed.

“I know it’s not that great but you need to keep your strength up.”

Stiles shook his head, fingers coming up to rub his forehead.

“What happened to ‘not the worst we’ve eaten’?” The tone was light and teasing but Stiles could hear the edge to it. He tensed on reflex.

“I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t doubt that. But you vomited up the last thing you ate.”

‘ _Because I commanded her.’_ He nodded and sat up, eyes opening to stare back at Peter. “Why do you care?” The other man frowned and opened his mouth to speak but Stiles was faster. “We aren’t friends. We don’t like each other.”

“I need to find Derek.” The other man was growing agitated but Stiles pressed on, fighting back the nausea returning.

“I hate to break it to you but I don’t know where he is. And even if I did, why would I tell the person who has tried repeatedly to kill us?” His words caused alarm to race in his veins and Stiles jerked in surprise. _Not his feelings._ His friend huffed. “Look I was in there for a while. Wherever he is, it’s far from where I last saw him.” Everything hurt. His breathing grew erratic and he shook his head, trying to continue but not finding the words.

The other man growled but didn’t move. Stiles watched the unreadable expression with bated breath. His mind grew crowded with thoughts that said the man in front of him was dangerous. Unstable. If he held on to those thoughts, if he gripped so tight it hurt, the presence in his mind wouldn’t be so obvious.

He pushed harder but he was interrupted when his friend whined loudly. Stiles turned, staring at her. _‘I’m hurting you again.’_ Tears stung the corners of his eyes and he swallowed hard, a silent apology forming at his mouth. She tilted her head and flicked her gaze over to Peter before back to him. This time he didn’t fight the roll of worry, closing his eyes hard. He could hear her shuffle and taking a deep breath to steady himself Stiles turned to look at Peter again.

“Sorry.” Confusion filled the mans face and Stiles shook his head. “I…I’m tired.” The excuse was flimsy at best but Peter seemed to accept it, gesturing at the half finished can of spaghetti.

“Eat. Then get some sleep.”

He didn’t argue. Quietly finishing off the can before dropping himself on the couch and sighing. A heavy weight was pushed against the couch and he pushed one eye open to see a mess of fur. He put his arm out and wrapped his fingers in her fur as he drifted off.

…..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so in case i need to clarify - names are a trigger for Stiles, but i can't tell you why until later because spoilers and all that jazz. the more 'stable' he's feeling, the more he refers to someone by their name. when he tips in the other direction, the person loses their name. For the moment each chapter alternates between Stiles POV and Peters POV. Each have their own mental battlefield to go through.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i edited this thing about 5 times and im still not overly happy with it but if i dont post it im going to lose my damn mind so here

He had predicted this but dammit that didn’t make it any less annoying. Peter growled while he searched the most recent house. They had managed to find some things, both of them carrying a backpack that held what little they found. Stiles finally had shoes, though he had refused socks. _File it away for_ later.

It wasn’t nearly enough for travelling the wilderness but the longer they stayed in town the riskier it got. He ran a hand through his hair, staring hard at the scraps of fabric he had collected. Most of them came from destroyed clothing and furniture. Honestly they looked quite pitiful, old and worn, some dirty. Still…Peter rolled them all together tightly and shoved them into his bag with another growl. A short bark outside brought a sigh.

The kid had been silent all day. Not responding with anything more than a nod or shaking his head. Peter tried, he really tried to be patient. By now he had thought plenty on what Stiles _wouldn’t_ say and the few injuries the kid allowed him to bandage. He wasn’t so unfeeling that he didn’t understand Stiles needed _time_.

His steps were agitated as he walked outside to where the kid and the wolf were waiting. Peter shrugged and gestured to keep moving. The animal gave a small tilt and walked on, nose pointing up every few steps. He wondered if they were close enough for her to smell the trees.

Stiles was silent beside him as they walked. Because of course he was silent. Peter walked on, matching the kids silence with mounting aggravation. What was there to say? _‘Hey I’m sorry you hate me. This wasn’t my first choice either but you know… I can’t leave you?’_ Peter winced hard. He should just leave. This wasn’t his responsibility. This wasn’t his mess, nor his problem. He had one goal – find Derek. Without that goal...

Every time he talked himself into just ditching them his feet refused to listen. _‘After this step.’_ Each step he would wait, the kid would stay silent, he would decide to leave. He kept giving Stiles steps until he was nearly insane with the desire to snap at him. He burned with the need to speak. To say anything as long as it wasn’t so _fucking_ silent.

So then he would talk himself into yelling at Stiles. A rant forming in his mind about how he didn’t _have_ to stay, he didn’t _have_ to keep Stiles safe and he was _anyway god dammit_. Peter would hype himself up with all the things had done to help, both now and _before_. And he would look at the kid, mouth open and just freeze at the expression on Stiles’ face. Like a wounded fucking animal. He could never look long.

The cycle would continue as they progressed. Peter wished he could say searching the houses was a relief, they would split up and he would be free of catching a glimpse of Stiles’ expression. He wished desperately that he could say being separated didn’t fill him with an unexplainable wave of anxiety that grew the longer it took. Of course being anxious was understandable. Soon enough the Hunters would catch on that they had lost something. They didn’t have long before teams would be sent to collect the kid. With so few Handlers surviving the treatments… His claws briefly extended in his clenched fists.

Anxiety could be explained. What couldn’t be explained was the fact that it subsided only when he would return to walk silently by Stiles, gaze straight ahead as the wolf led the way. By midday their backpacks were each half filled and Peter was curious to find that a flicker of something warm had taken place in his chest. The odds of survival had increased and he frowned as he recognised a small hope that they could get through this.

He saw the wolf freeze before he heard the howl far in the distance. _‘_ _Jinxed it, haven’t I?’_ His skin chilled and he kept his eyes on her. While she was shifted her senses were stronger than his. A painful twist in his gut at being reliant on someone else was stomped out as his arm registered warmth. Peter jumped, glaring next to him where Stiles had inched closer. The kid didn’t react, eyes locked on the wolf in front of them. Stiles finally looked at him, eyes wide and the scent of fear rolling off him. A shaky finger was brought to his lips and Peter nodded and looked back to the wolf.

She was rigid in the street, hackles raised and face turned in the direction the howl came from. Peter wasn’t sure he could even see her breathing.

They waited like that for a full minute before the wolf moved. Peter slowly let out the breath he had been holding. Her ears flicked around a few times before she took a careful step, alert as she waited. After another few seconds she slowly moved forward, hackles still raised. Peter looked over and tensed when he found he had grabbed Stiles’ arm on reflex. Stiles nodded once, stiffly continuing after the wolf and Peter had to wait a minute before following.

He needed to leave this kid. _‘He’s not actually a kid.’_ Not very convincing when Stiles looked so terrified.

…..

He didn’t end up leaving the kid. Quite the opposite in fact. Instead of leaving Stiles, which by the way he had come up with several very convincing reasons for why it was justified, Peter found to his immense discomfort that he had in fact from that point stuck to the kid like god damn glue. They were searching half as many buildings now because he couldn’t seem to bring himself to let Stiles out of his sight. Oh he had tried to talk himself out of following. It was a mantra in his mind now, reasons to walk away and not look back. Reasons for why he wouldn’t feel guilty about it later.

Didn’t fucking work though, did it? Peter wasn’t sure if anyone had ever failed quite this hard at leaving. He huffed in annoyance for the _25_ _th_ _time_ as Stiles silently went through a kitchen. See he wasn’t even being helpful. This behaviour was absolutely ridiculous. The kid would be fine searching on his own, but as long as Peter just stood there _glaring_ at Stiles they would never –

“What?”

His mind momentarily blanked at the sound of Stiles’ quiet voice. “What?”

“What as in...” Stiles gestured vaguely at him. “What are you so pissed about?”

He frowned. “I’m not pissed at anything.”

“You keep following me glaring like I stole your kidneys. Seems pissed to me.” Stiles continued searching, having found some things and stashing them on the counter. “You could at least help.”

He wanted to bite back. He wanted to raised his voice and yell. He wanted to punch the wall. He wanted to _leave_ and not look back. Peter did none of those things. Some part of him, the same part that drove him to keep the kid in his sights, seemed satisfied at hearing his voice. _‘If he can talk he’s safe.’_ Everything about this was uncomfortable. This wasn’t a hurt child, or an injured pack mate. _This was Stiles._ He turned, finally able to look at something else, and searched the rest of the house.

He was enraged to find he still followed Stiles into each new building though.

…..

The rest of the day passed without incident. The wolf kept them moving at a steady pace, egged on by the sense of danger or the proximity to the forest or both. He was glad for it. The urgency she had placed on them was enough to distract him from some of his more irritating thoughts. By the time the wilderness was in view their backpacks were filled with various things, and he was eager to put the town behind him.

The kid didn’t speak a word after their conversation earlier but Peter no longer felt the overwhelming need to break the silence. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Stiles’ face still, but at least he was no longer being slowly driven insane. _Again._ The wolf waited impatiently for them to keep up and Peter grit his teeth. His legs hurt, his head hurt and they needed to find a safe place for the night. He glanced at the sky, trying to judge the time by how much light was left.

A distant snort caught his attention and he looked back down with a glare at the animal. She gazed at him with narrowed eyes and he scowled.

“She’s hungry.” Stiles’ whispered once Peter had caught up.

“Of course she is.”

As if to really drive the point home she started pacing back and forth, panting quietly. He got the sense he was being mocked and he glared harder at her. The response was a tilt of her head. Peter rolled his eyes. “Come on then, lest your rude friend decides to eat me rather than a deer.” He didn’t know why he hoped for a response. He also didn’t know why his shoulders slouched in disappointment when he didn’t get one.

Once they had caught up with the wolf she stopped walking so far ahead, unwilling to head into the forest on her own. The sun was set by the time they reached the trees and Peter had again unconsciously reached out to wrap his hand around Stiles’ arm. He sighed, looked around while the kid tried to keep up and decided to just focus on finding a place to rest. Everything else could be dealt with later.

They walked for a little while before the wolf paused, tilting her head side to side. Peter squinted, listening to try and pick up what caught her attention. A few steps later the sound of running water reached him and he turned to the kid. “Not far.” Despite the distance they had walked he didn’t want to tempt fate, not speaking louder than a whisper. Stiles simply nodded, waiting to be directed. Uncomfortable. _Wrong._ Peter looked away and focused on getting them to the water.

By the time they reached the stream the moon was high enough that Stiles didn’t need much assistance following. He would look to his side every so often to make sure he was still alright but despite his expression and complete silence he marched on and Peter allowed himself a moment to breathe as the wolf checked the water. Stiles nodded once before digging around in his backpack.

Once the few bottles they had gathered were filled Peter told them to stay while he examined the area. The stream moved further into the forest, away from the town. The further they went into the forest the safer they would be from the Hunters but…

For the fifth time since walking away from the stream Peter turned to stare back where they waited for him. Both Stiles and the wolf kept their sight trained on him and it both calmed him and filled him with dread. They were relying on him. _‘No, they are watching for a threat.’_ That seemed more likely.

Downstream he found a place and turned back to wave them over. Once they stood he continued his examination. Down a small hill next to the stream was a sharp bank. Tree roots formed a canopy over the ground below, with the bulky trees themselves forming further cover. Peter nodded, satisfied and made his way down to clear the area.

His aggravation overrode his satisfaction the moment the wolf arrived and performed her own inspection. And dammit the kid didn’t move until the animal snorted and looked at him. Peter glared at the area he had cleared and shoved his backpack off as he sat down. After a moment Stiles came over and did the same, though the kid kept his eyes on the wolf standing in front of them.

Peter was halfway through emptying their bags when the silence was broken. “She wants to hunt.” He looked up and blinked in confusion at the wolf before frowning back at Stiles.

“So tell her to go hunt.”

“She doesn’t want to leave me alone with you.”

If he had jumped in the stream he would be warmer than he was right that second. Peter grit his teeth and turned to the wolf who regarded him with her hackles raised ever so slightly. “I was alone with him in town. Go on. You’ll be forced to shift back if you don’t eat and get your strength back.” The animal growled once and glanced at Stiles before glaring back at Peter. He rolled his eyes and turned back to the supplies. “Suit yourself.”

It was only when he was finished emptying the bags that he looked up again and found that the wolf had left. Peter took his time cataloguing what they had.

Five filled water bottles, a decent sized bundle of cloth, a few intact articles of clothing, eight cans of food, a handful of jerky sticks. He could feel Stiles’ gaze burning into the side of his head. A sewing kit, a first aid kit cannibalised from other kits into a lunchbox, a flashlight. Peters’ skin started itching. An axe, two belts, a bag of hair ties, a box of sandwich bags. His stomach rolled, pushing bile into his throat. A half-filled box of matches, a small screwdriver.

“What?” He hadn’t intended to snap, looking up to glare at the kid. Stiles squinted and Peter grit his teeth again.

“What are you doing?”

Peters frown deepened. “I’m looking over what we found. We didn’t exactly update each other as we went.” The expression on Stiles’ face was devoid of emotion and an itch went down his arms at the wrongness of it all.

“Oh.” The kid looked away and Peter could breathe.

“What do you mean, 'oh'? What did you think I was doing?”

“Leaving.”

He didn’t know how to respond so he just froze entirely, face stuck in frown. He was on unsteady ground. Stiles had always been incredibly perceptive. It was absolutely possible that he had worked out that Peter had been debating leaving all day. But this…the way Stiles was acting, snapping one moment and despondent the next. _‘A response to trauma.’_ He didn’t know if this was Stiles accusing or expressing a vulnerability and the uncertainty filled Peter with dread. He didn’t like things he couldn’t predict. Situations he couldn’t outsmart.

As he attempted to make sense of this and how to proceed Stiles had turned to look at him again. How did he manage to look like _Stiles_ while also looking so _broken?_ Peter took a ragged breath and cleared his throat. “I wanted to.” What compelled him to be honest was anyone’s guess.

“You could.”

Peter nodded, mouth firmly closed. Every movement felt like hovering over a land mine. He still wasn’t completely sure what made Stiles snap the night before, and now the damn wolf wasn’t nearby to calm him down. _‘She would think I did something to him regardless.’_ Peter shook his head and looked away as he reminded himself of his goal. “I’m getting you to safety. To Derek.” The admission stunned him. Apparently it had a similar affect on Stiles.

“You can’t.” The distressed whimper made Peter want to throw up. “You can’t take me to him. Please just leave or, or don’t but please don’t take me to _him_ _._ ” Peter looked over, hand clenched around his leg. Stiles had curled up with his knees to his chest.

“Stiles… We need--” Dammit. Dammit it all. Stiles continued whispering, stuttering out _please._ It made him light-headed. He had rules, a plan, a _goal._ That goal didn’t include babysitting. He could try and get the memories from Stiles’ using his claws but the state the kid was in it was likely to kill him. He could leave them, but unless the wolf was able to perform first aid… Stiles was still his best chance to find Derek.

Peter drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, his hand coming up to scratch through his hair. “Okay.” He waited until Stiles was looking at him. “For now we keep moving. The further we go into the forest the safer we’ll be from the Hunters.” Stiles nodded, his breathing starting to even out. “We shouldn’t follow the stream too much, but until we find another water source we keep it close by.” Keeping his voice quiet and calm seemed to be working on uncurling the kid next to him and Peter gestured at the supplies to distract himself from _wrong_.

“We have enough for a few days, but then we will need to rely on what we find.” Peter nodded to himself, distributing the supplies so that his held the most weight. Until Stiles was recovered and could keep up without help it wasn’t smart to overburden him. He left the first aid kit out. “Your friend will be able to tell what is safe to eat and what isn’t. Until she shifts back we’ll need her nose.”

The bags being repacked Peter looked them over. Still room to add anything they could find. “For the first few days we shouldn’t risk lighting any fires. It’ll start getting real cold at night so don’t be too proud to take the clothes from your bag.” He passed it over and finally looked Stiles over.

“I need to check your injuries again. I know it’s not comfortable, but I need to at least make sure they don’t get infected.”

There was a very, _very_ small squint of his eyes before Stiles stretched his legs out fully, arms limp at his sides. Peter waited for a nod before he moved over with the kit. The cut on his leg was still fresh, angry and red from the walking but overall not terrible. There were various bruises, scrapes and track marks all over his arms and legs. Knowing how a Handler was made, he assumed the same of Stiles’ back and neck.

There truthfully wasn’t much he could do that he hadn’t already done, but Peter needed to be sure. He cleaned the more serious ones, rotating the various bandages and made a mental note of the injection locations for later. It wasn’t common but depending on how long ago it was, the injection sites could get infected and that would be wildly unpleasant for them both. Peter took a moment to concentrate on taking some pain, skin crawling at the sensation.

“Good. I need you to tell me if you start feverish or anything starts...leaking,” he said quietly.

Stiles had watched him intensely the entire time. After a few moments of silent staring he nodded, turning so the backpack could be used as a pillow. Peter let out a shaky breath and leaned back against the wall, staring into the darkened forest as he listened to the kids’ breathing. From what he could tell there was no evidence of physical torture beyond the injections. Honestly the pain and insanity the treatments brought on was enough to consider it torture in Peters mind.

If you want a loyal soldier you break his mind by making him think you are his friend. By making him depend on you. You care for him, you tend to his needs, you speak to him softly, promising help he _just needed to meet you halfway_. He’d seen it before. It hadn’t worked on _him_ of course but on someone like Stiles? One of Scott’s pack, so intent on saving people and seeing the _good_ in people? Acid travelled through his veins.

Stiles wasn’t suspicious of Peter because of _before._ Stiles was suspicious because he couldn’t no longer distinguish friend from foe. He couldn’t no longer tell who he could trust.

Hours later the wolf finally returned, smelling of blood and sweat. She gave him a single glance before trotting over to lay down next to the kid and Peter didn’t miss the trembling hand that crept over to grab at fur. The second skin met fur he knew the Stiles was asleep and he finally allowed himself to close his eyes.

…..


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and my trend of being unreliable on updates continues. just to warn you, Stiles is unreliable in terms of telling the time passing. i couldn't find a decent way to convey that beyond drawing on my own experiences with losing time. so. my apologies

The morning started off as silent as the others had been and Stiles was thankful. Speaking took great effort. Too much effort. They didn’t waste much time eating and washing some of the grime off their arms and faces. His friend splashed them with water as she rolled through the stream while Stiles narrowed his eyes at the pressure in his skull. _Relief._ She was glad to be rid of the blood. Once she was done she earned a tired growl from Peter as she shook the water out of her fur all over them. Barely giving them a glance she huffed and started rolling in the leaves and dry dirt. Stiles nodded and moved to rub some dirt over his own skin. He glanced at Peters mildly annoyed face and shrugged. Peter rolled his eyes before joining in with a suffering sigh.

Once they were finished his friend sniffed in their direction and sneezed, satisfaction filled him and he swallowed past the urge to smile. If he wasn’t careful he would throw his breakfast up. Again. He was thankful when she started moving ahead of them, head turning to face every little sound the forest had to offer. Past the thrum of anxiety there was a certainty that she was enjoying being there. _‘Normal for a wolf.’_ By now guilt was a regular occurrence.

He had to admit it was still beautiful. Clearly different when he thought of before. This place matched no definition of forest he could think of. The most obvious difference was that the further they went the more the trees changed colours. He barely noticed it at first, eyes sliding past the occasional dark shade and automatically assigning it as low light. Until one was right next to him and with a shock he realised _the bark is blue._ Neither of his companions made any reaction to the colour of the trees and that only made him feel more unsettled.

After that it wasn’t just the trees. Stiles started to noticed differences _everywhere_. A rock moved, and was revealed to be a creature similar to a turtle but much much louder. A bird flew past and _were those scales??_ Plants he recognised but had the wrong leaf colour or stem type. Animal calls that sounded vaguely familiar but different enough he couldn’t name them. The entire time they walked he was silent as he tried to come to terms with each new change he found. His friend would occasionally look back at him with a small head tilt but he always just nodded and kept examining.

It was almost _too much_ once he became aware of it. Overwhelming in the subtly. Stiles was on edge, trying to figure out what new change he would find next. Every time he caught Peters’ gaze he was met with an unreadable expression. _‘How long was I in there?’_ He was afraid of the answer.

‘ _Why are we safer in the forest?’_

He was afraid of that one too.

…..

Peter had been right about the nights growing colder. After a full day of walking Stiles was tired, caked in freezing sweat and shivering against the wall of the …burrow Peter had found. It was clearly made by some large animal as his friend was able to slide down the entrance and it smelled strongly of what he thought was oil. After minimal observation the origin of the smell was some long dried scales shoved to the back. Stiles’ face was still scrunched up while he pulled the bag out and dug through it. The clothes they had managed to find all looked too big for him but he hoped that meant they would keep him warm. He took the sweatpants and the long sleeve shirt, shoving the rest in his bag before sliding the clothes on over his dirty outfit. It wasn’t ideal. But he needed warmth over comfort.

Peter passed him some food and Stiles ate silently, musing over the changes between now and before. What had caused such changes? As far as he knew, when they had taken him the forests were all the same as before. So that meant that these alterations had happened during his stay in the facility. Stiles wondered if Peter might know how long he was in there for. When his friend left to go hunting he curled up and waited, mind switching between the steady pressure in his head and what lay waiting further in the forest.

He wasn’t sure how long she was gone, his eyes drifted to where she was sliding awkwardly into the burrow to plop down next to him. His hand automatically sought out the fur and his eyes closed. His mind was exhausted from running in circles and sleep came quickly.

…..

Over the next several days Stiles allowed himself to grow more distracted with the forest, barely saying a word to either of his companions. He thought he had started a pretty reliable mental catalogue of which plants and animals were safe to eat. He watched for what his friend showed interest in, what she backed away from, what she chewed on and what she spat out. What she reacted violently to. At some point both Stiles and Peter had started gathering what they found that was safe to eat. Trying them had been another hurdle and it was a few long days of gathering things before he had given in.

It looked like a blueberry on the outside, though it was about twice the size. Peeling the dark skin back revealed translucent flesh. It oozed juice that smelled like honey. Eyes were on him as he examined and smelled the berry but he didn’t react to them. Very hesitantly he brought it to his mouth and bit down.

Surprisingly not absolutely disgusting. Despite its sweet smell it was rather bitter, but not so bitter that he couldn’t eat several of them. His companions seemed satisfied with his reaction as they got busy feeding themselves. That night his dreams were a blend of the strange forest and medical equipment.

…..

Stiles blinked away the sleep in his eyes as the morning light painted the forest. A few seconds later and he was sitting up, eyeing the makeshift bed he had made against the roots of a tree. His friend was awake and by his side but Peter was nowhere to be seen. He blinked at the spot the other man had been in last night, confusion dancing inside him though he couldn’t tell if it was his, or his friend over his distress. Distress? Stiles looked the entire area over but didn’t see any sign of Peter.

A small whine came from his friend and he looked at her confused expression. Her ears flicked to the side a second before Peter came walking over, face unreadable. His friend made another whine and the other man looked up, squinting at them.

“Why are you so worked up this early?” Stiles could hear tired acceptance underneath the teasing tone usually directed at his friend. Another change. Another thing different to before. Peter rarely got a response from Stiles, so he had taken to talking to his friend or just talking general. Sometimes it was comforting, a reminder of another _person_ and sometimes it set fire to his nerves. Now it was a relief.

Lost in his head he hadn’t realised he was staring at the other man silently until Peter raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat. “What?” A few more seconds of silence and Peter sighed, nodded his head and started grabbing something to eat. “I filled the water bottles, depending on how far we go today we should be able to start lighting fires at night. Which means cooked food and more warmth.” He accepted the food passed to him and started eating without a word but it didn’t deter Peter who kept calmly and quietly talking about various things. Apparently he had _also_ been paying attention to the things his friend pointed out.

He swallowed down the jealousy and the guilt as they prepared for the day. Throughout their walk Stiles became increasingly aware that the forest was no longer distracting him as well he wanted it to. When they would stop for breaks he watched from his seat as his friend and Peter would survey the area. Every now and then Peter would talk, too low for him to hear but his friend would always flick an ear back. _‘They’re talking to each other.’_ He cast his gaze to the ground.

Making camp was difficult as he had lost the ability to focus on any one thing. His friend kept a careful watch on him but her attempts on the tether were easy enough to block out. The look in her eyes at being shut out made stomach acid react wildly and when she moved away to track down dinner he was equal parts relieved and devastated. Stiles blinked back the sting and eyed the circle of stones slowly being filled with branches.

Peter would occasionally glance up at him but thankfully stayed silent as he got a small fire going. The warmth danced across his face and Stiles sighed deeply, moving closer to get warmer. Peter gave a small nod and sat back against one of the trees, seemingly content to wait in silence. Now and then a small crack came from the fire and another stick would be added, gradually building the warmth. After so many hours of cold this was so good he wanted to cry.

He didn’t move from his spot when his friend returned with one of the lizard birds, or when Peter started slicing the carcass and stabbing sticks into the pieces. A few moments later his stomach growled viciously as the smell of cooking food hit him.

“If you eat too fast you’ll get sick.” Peters voice was firm and soft as he tested the meat, turning the sticks in intervals. “And let it cool down first. I don’t want my neck ripped out because you burned your tongue.” It was the usual cocky tone but no real bite to it.

Stiles nodded and kept watching the food slowly cook. Vaguely he could register his friends presence circling them though from what he could tell her attention was on the forest around them. “Here.” It was a struggle to remember the instructions as he was passed the first bit of food. “Let it cool.” Drool gathered in his mouth as he waited. And waited. And waited still. “Alright try it now.” An eternity later he poked an area with his finger and when the heat didn’t hurt he bit down nervously. He didn’t want to make himself sick but he couldn’t remember being this _hungry_ before. The first bite was weird, but not overly distasteful. It did _not_ taste like chicken, as he had first guessed based on the smell. Stiles had the fleeting thought that if he wasn’t so hungry this would be an acquired taste.

He kept straining to hold himself back but after a few bites he was grateful for the restraint. His stomach wasn’t used to this and he found himself having to wait a few seconds in between bites. Once the portion on his stick was finished he turned to look for more only to be met by a water bottle being held out to him. After thinking it over for about ten seconds he accepted it, about to gulp it down with a tired voice reminded him, “Slowly.”

Dinner continued at a dizzying rate of too slow and not slow enough. He ate two and a half pieces and finished almost a whole water bottle when he called it quits. With his belly full and the warmth from the fire easing the ache in his muscles it didn’t take much time for him to lay down with his backpack as a pillow. He could feel his friend settle in behind him and he was asleep as soon as his eyes closed.

…..

An odd series of patterns had developed between them and Stiles loathed how quickly he grew attached to the routine. Often his mind came up with all the possible ways everything could go wrong. They would be found. He would fall down a steep bank and break his leg. His friend would go completely feral. Peter would leave. This was all just a test by the doctors. Allowing himself to feel safe was a luxury he never afforded himself and every time he started he couldn’t stop the sabotage and it made Stiles feel sick. Hiding behind a tightly closed mouth he watched his companions go through their various communications.

Peter was speaking, scoffed slightly and pointing off in the distance. His friend huffed in response before taking off. When she returned with the creature she snapped at the ground repeatedly before shaking her fur and stomping away. Stiles watched her while his companion tied the carcass to a belt hanging from his bag. Later in the day during his rest she flopped next to him panting and he ran his fingers through her fur without focusing. The strings in his mind shook but he hardly needed to concentrate to ignore it. Peters stare, however, was harder to ignore and he nodded and stood, signalling he was good to go.

That night she didn’t stop pacing. The occasional huff and short growl would come from her but other than that she was relaxed beyond the pacing. Stiles stared at her with a small frown. He could feel Peter watching from the other side of the fire and he turned to meet the stare.

Peter nodded in her direction. “She’s losing herself.” Soft, but loud enough to be heard. Stiles blinked and frowned again. “It...happens. When they lose their handlers.”

He had stopped listening. The fire suddenly lost its ability to warm him and he shivered as his limbs went numb. _‘I’m rejecting it.’_ Stiles didn’t need any more explanation. He had caused this in the first place and now he was making it worse. He nodded silently, swallowing hard as he laid down for bed. When she eventually came to lay behind him he rolled, arm coming up to rest on her large frame. Stiles closed his eyes and breathed slowly. The last thing he felt before sleeping was a tug on the strings.

….

Now their walking did absolutely nothing to distract him. Stiles felt like he examined every leaf on the ground but all he could think about was how he was _hurting_ her again. He knew that the tether tied between them was a death sentence. Knew that without it she would go feral. A feral Enhanced can never come back but an Enhanced whose handler yielded all control? Stiles thought it had been a good fix. Push away and both their minds would remain in tact.

Multiple times he would gaze up to quietly examine Peter and his friend. Peter was speaking to her, making various gestures as they walked. _‘He knows.’_ It filled him with fear, causing both of them to glance up. What if he did know? What if he knew and could help? What if he didn’t know and he would sell them out? What if he didn’t know and left when he found out? Stiles had stumbled slightly at that thought but the next one left him winded. _‘Where is Peters Handler?’_ He blinked uncertainly at the man a few steps ahead of him. An Enhanced... _needed_ a handler. Didn’t they?

Paranoia plagued him for the rest of the day. Guilt would rise up to take its place and between the two he was completely exhausted when they made camp. He didn’t fight the tendril of worry that wrapped around his skull, flinching slightly as it was followed quickly by surprise. Sensing his distress he was met with a wave of _nothing_ and Stiles watched his friend keep Peter company as they secured the area.

That night she didn’t come to lay near him and he danced in and out of sleep, hand clutching at fur that was never there.

…..

It was afternoon when he collapsed. Stiles didn’t fight as his legs gave out, arms hanging uselessly while he rested on his knees. There was dull recognition of two figures standing next to him and a static buzz filtered in and out. A second later and his head cleared enough to blink at their concerned expressions. A small part of him was amused at how quick they were to worry. Stiles shook his head and mentally chastised himself.

“I’m fine,” he croaked, wincing at how _not fine_ his voice was. He wasn’t surprised to find the doubt filling their faces and didn’t have the energy to defend himself further. His mind flashed with worry, he knew without thinking that it wasn’t his and he grit his teeth as he allowed the feeling to fill him. The rest of the day was filled with nausea and dizziness as he fought against the wall he had put up, letting more and more of his friends’ presence entangle with his mind. Each time she would find his distress and she would pull back. He was positively drunk on guilt by the time they made camp.

A small part of him realised that they made camp far earlier than usual and the disruption to their routine flipped his stomach in an odd dance of relief and _burden_.

…..

The next two days were an exhausting repeat he couldn’t escape from. He stumbled more often and his head was always overcome by a numbing dizziness. Stiles could barely keep track of the amount of times he would fall and an arm would reach out to steady him before he hit the ground. _‘I don’t need help.’_ His mind never believed him and he accepted the arm silently each time. He spoke even less than before and the persistent nagging at the edge of his consciousness drove him further into his own mind.

If he couldn’t stop her from losing herself the least he could do was disappear along with her. He deserved as much.

His silence was wearing on Peter. Even in the fever dream state he was in Stiles could see it very clearly. He would glance to his side and an angry frown would greet him. For every rest he was overwhelmed with the feeling of being watched. Dinner was spent lost in the sea of concern and sadness soaking the tether. Stiles found more often than not he had trouble breathing but he continued on, pushing aside the spinning nausea in his gut as every part of him screamed to shove the bond away. He was restless in sleep, constantly waking up to find he had moved and scratched at his skin.

He would only drift off again when his blurry mind registered warmth at his back, far enough he couldn’t feel pressure but close enough to calm his nerves. Stiles grappled onto anything that could swing back into the gentle routine he had grown ridiculously attached to. It was forever disrupted by his refusal to block out the presence in his mind.

His friend seemed to stabilise once he allowed her to feel him. But he used that term loosely. He was not so far gone that he couldn’t feel the thin thread she clung to. The smallest reminder that she was _more than a wolf._ Letting her in wasn’t bringing her back. A long forgotten sense of curiosity would rise up occasionally and he would walk for hours lost in thought over it. Why wasn’t anything working? Why did it seem everything he did only drove her further into her animalistic instincts? _How could he fix this?_

The answer to all of his questions always ended up as, _Peter would know._ He could never bring himself to start the conversation, merely glancing over to see the very unapproachable expression. _Ask Peter what to do._ He would work himself up, convincing himself to just _ask_ when he would be struck with an immense feeling of _danger_. Peter was _dangerous,_ Peter couldn’t be _trusted,_ where was his _Handler?_ He was almost constantly on the verge of a panic attack.

Finally it was too much. The questions. The fear. The anxiety swimming under his skin. They had made camp, his friend gathered food, Peter prepared it silently. Sleep should have come by now as Stiles stared blankly into the small fire, back firmly against a tree and fingers twisting nervously together. He looked around for his friend, not seeing her but feeling her presence in his mind.

“How do I bring her back?”


End file.
